Ten Things I Learned In My First Semester Of College: Number 8—“In The County”

As I write this at approximately 8:15 on a Thursday morning, I can say with a grim certainty that I do not know exactly where I am. I know approximately: I am at a Holiday In Express somewhere near (or possibly within) Pocomoke City, MD, on the so-called DelMarVa Peninsula. I have a lovely view of the hotel parking lot and a KFC (no, I have not partaken, but I am guilty of a dalliance with a Popeye’s Chicken in Princess Anne last night). But, I don’t know anything more specific than that about my location on this crazy planet.

I know what some of you may be saying to yourselves at this point, dear readers, but it is not what you think. Indeed, your straitlaced buddy remains intact. This uncertainty is in no way due to my fist wild night of partying and drunkenness. I don’t know if I ever wish to have such a night given the anecdotes I have heard thus far in my college career. But that is a subject for another post.

I used to think I knew exactly where I was as all times, at least in America, but I was proven wrong (an experience I do not ever enjoy—perhaps one of my greatest flaws) earlier this year by some of my dorm neighbors. The short version is best presented in bullet-point form.

- Every physical point in my home state of Connecticut lies within the limits of a county.
- Every physical point within a county in Connecticut also lies within a town.
- Every physical point in the United States lies within the limits of a county.
- Every physical point in the United States does not lie within a town.
- Ergo, there are some (many, in fact) areas in the US that are not within the limits of a town.

To quote Eric Burdon, “this really blew my mind, the fact that me, an overfed [short]-haired leaping gnome should be” wrong. On that night, instead of doing my Calculus homework, I learned that people can actually live “in the county”—not within the limits of any town. It’s a depressing notion to me—not having a concrete town to call one’s own was obviously a big enough concern to Connecticut’s founding fathers, a fact that has not gone overlooked by yours truly—but to many, it’s the way things are. That the following sort of conversation can take place is a bit depressing:

- American A: Hello friend; you seem like an agreeable chap. How’s about let’s be chums, eh?
- American B: Agreed! Say, where are you from?
- A: (energetically) I live in the town of Avon, Connecticut.
- B: (depressed) Well gee, that’s nice…
- A: (puzzled) I say, friend, what seems to be the trouble?
- B: (stifling tears) I…I live in an…(sniffles) unincorporated area! (cue dramatic music, B breaks down in sorrow)
- A: Oh me, what a shame! (fades to black)

This brief dramatization hopefully gives some idea of my own perspective on towns, etc. I personally hope I’ll always live in an incorporated area. Subject to the lawlessness of the open frontier (not really), I just don’t know if I could survive.

No lyrical selection today.

—12/27/07

NOTE TO READERS: Please let me know what you think of these posts through comments (you can submit anonymously if you wish). If I'm boring you to tears, please let me know.

Ten Things I Learned In My First Semester of College: Number 9—Snow Sensations

As I write this, I am sitting in the car on the way to Christmas Dinner some 65 miles from home. The scene is, frankly, an ugly brown-flecked white, as the snow that fell about 10 days ago still remains, topped by an icy crust—the remnants of some precipitation from the middle of last week. Being a golfer through-and through, I despise snow, despite my New England upbringing. Previously, I’d always felt as though if I never saw snow again, I wouldn’t mind.

A few days before I left my lovely university in the South for Christmas Break, it snowed for about three or four hours one cold December morning. Only an inch or so accumulated, and as the temperature rose through the afternoon, much of it was gone soon enough. This wasn’t terribly interesting in itself—I know that the area where my school is located receives some snow each year (though happily very much less than I see in Connecticut). As I nearly fell flat on my face on the way to class, I cursed under my breath, but I then perked up at the thought that this could well be the first time that some of my dorm neighbors had ever seen snow fall.

Sure enough, I was correct. Two of my best college friends to-date—a Texan and a Floridian—had never witnessed a snow event first-hand. This fascinated me. Now, I’m not saying that I’m so ignorantly egocentric as to have been surprised that there are Americans who have never experienced what is a part of yearly life in the American Northeast (I should hope not, at least), but the revelation was a bit jarring anyway.

This little experience and reflection re-illuminated for me one of the most important non-academic aspects of college—the coming-together of people from all over the place. It excites me to know people who call places such as Florida and Texas (not to mention Fiji and Nepal) home, as they are places with which I would like to become somewhat acquainted someday. I would also like to think that people think my living in Connecticut somewhat interesting (and despite what people may tell you, dear readers, Connecticut is usually a lovely place), if for no other reason than the fact that I get to see snow fall every year. At the end of all this, I have a slightly renewed appreciation for snow. Though its prolonged presence will forever irritate me, I now see it as an intriguing bit of manna from the winter sky. At least for 12 hours or so.

No lyrical selection this evening.

Ten Things I Learned In My First Semester of College, Number Ten: A Phallic Phenomenon

(As always, I apologize for posting so sparsely. Thanks for sticking with me.)

Like most college freshmen, a “whiteboard” hangs on the outside of my dorm room door. Perhaps I should have known that my tendency to invite constant fun-poking and jibe-slinging would follow me to college. I fell asleep my first night at school and woke up the next morning to discover that someone had obnoxiously drawn a penis on said whiteboard. Now I had gone to high school with a few people who enjoyed drawing such things on any available flat surface, so I wasn’t immune to the phenomenon. However, after all, this is college. You know, a time of maturity, of taking responsibility, right? Apparently not! Nary a day has gone by when I haven’t discovered such perverse artwork on my whiteboard.

It is also worth noting that this activity is not confined to the sui generis “three-second version” (though this is certainly the most popular manifestation). Oh no, dear readers, sometimes I emerge one morning to find a drawing so explicitly, appallingly detailed (courtesy, usually, of one Strong Islander in particular) that I must make audible my bemusement at human weirdness (usually a chuckle, sniff, or guffaw). I refuse to go into further detail because it would serve no good—suffice it to say that such scenes as are drawn on my whiteboard would hurt the eyes of any decent person.

BOTTOM LINE: It would appear that some young adult males are so very intrigued by their own, shall we say, unique equipment that they wish to express their love for said equipment by drawing it hither and thither. Is it because they feel inadequate and therefore must compensate by bringing such a heretofore-taboo subject into daily life so incessantly? Are they so desperate for the intimate companionship of another that their fixation with drawing penises should be seen as a cry for help and counseling? I am not altogether sure of the answer.

Perhaps an appropriate lyrical selection for this subject is the anthem of all those who are sexually lonely and frustrated: Jackson Browne’s ode to his own member, “Rosie.”

“She was standing at the load-in when the trucks rolled up,
She was sniffing all around like a half-grown female pup,
She wasn't hard to talk to; looked like she had nowhere to go,
So I gave her my pass so she could get in and see the show.

Well I sat her down right next to me and I got her a beer,
While I mixed that sound on stage so the band could hear,
The more I watched her watch them play, the less I could think of to say,
And when they walked off stage, the drummer swept that girl away.

But Rosie you're all right - you wear my ring,
When you hold me tight - Rosie that's my thing,
When you turn out the light - I've got to hand it to me…
Looks like it's me and you again tonight, Rosie.

Well I guess I might have known from the start: she'd come for a star,
Might have told my imagination not to run too far,
Of all the times that I've been burned, by now you'd think I'd have learned
That it's who you look like, and not who you are.

But Rosie you're all right - you wear my ring,
When you hold me tight - Rosie that's my thing,
When you turn out the light - I've got to hand it to me…
Looks like it's me and you again tonight, Rosie.”

A Grand Old Time With The Grand Old Party

In the relatively sporadic life of this blog, I haven't really had the motivation to craft a bread-and-butter, straight-ahead political post. So, without further ado...

I watched this evening's Republican Presidential Debate (YouTube-themed) from St. Petersburg, Florida, and I feel compelled to give my thoughts.

- Tonight's biggest loser, in my opinion, was Mitt Romney. His night began poorly when he picked a childish fight with Rudy Giuliani, and ended up sounding like a guest on Jerry Springer (I'll comment on Rudy momentarily). Later on, when asked whether or not he took "every single word of" The Bible literally, instead of answering the obvious "No, but...," he stammered and stuttered an evasive response. When confronted by John McCain about whether or not "waterboarding" consitutes torture, he yet again dodged and responded very obtusely to a question he could have very easily handled.

- Tonight's winners, in my opinion, were Mike Huckabee, John McCain, and Rudy Giuliani, respectively.
- During the speaking time he was given (which was more than in previous GOP debates, it seemed), he showed the audience that he is as eloquent as any of his competitors. One of the people I was watching the debate with remarked on how smooth Huckabee is, which is a very good appraisal of his rhetoric. He rarely stumbled, showed energy, wit, and humor, and made his stances clear. I came out of the debate with much more knowledge of and respect for what Huckabee is about.
- John McCain continued his straight-talk way tonight, which gives him a lot of persnal credibility with me. Even though I don't support everything he supports 100%, I am impressed at how well he acquits himself against his fellow Republicans. And of course, his record and experience is simply unparalleled, which is a big bonus. I also reject the idea that he is too old, so his grandfatherly appearance suits me fine.
- I felt that his instigating the sily quarrel over whether or not Romney employed illegal immigrants (a topic I aim to tackle in a near-future post) with Romney aside, Giuliani came up with many fine answers tonight. I am sure that people are wont to criticize him for constantly referring to his experience as mayor of New York City, but the more facts he gives in support of his credibility as a candidate, the better I feel about him as a prospective Commander-in-Chief. In short, he remains my front-runner because if he can turn New York City 180 degrees, he certainly has the ability to affect the kind of changes in America that will be necessary going forward, be they in foreign policy, economic policy, or social policy.

- Ron Paul's ideas on foreign policy scare me quite a bit. Don't let him convince you that he isn't an isolationist, because that's exactly what he is. His reasoning that our problems with radical Islamic terrorism will go away as soon as we vacate the region is simply ludicrous. John McCain is correct--along with most of the other candidates--in saying that if we cut-and-run from the Middle East, it will symbolize a concession to arguably the most dangerous group of people in the world (and of course I am referring to radical Islamic terrorists, because as Giuliani correctly observed, Islam is a vibrant, peaceful religion that has been corrupted by a few sick individuals). That is a concession that must not be made. When John McCain was in Iraq over Thanksgiving and he brought up the ideas of the American war opposition, the response by the soldiers with whom he spent time was "Let us win." Those soldiers are absolutely right. They deserve the opportunity to finish the job properly, and that sure as heck-fire will not happen with any of the Democratic candidates or Ron Paul.

Okay, I've said enough on this matter for one evening. No lyrical selection.

Blood: The Latest Hookup Medium?

It's really weird to come home from one's first couple months at college (more on that in a future post, I imagine) and find how little there is to watch on television. Nevertheless, I, like many of my fellow lazy college students (I suspect), have taken every opportunity to watch TV. The highlight--or lowlight; I'm not too sure how to label such an odd experience--was the latest episode of "Taboo," on the National Geographic Channel. The subject tonight: mating. The first segment dealt with modern vampires. Yes, you've read correctly.

The focus of the opening segment was an American couple, Heather and Vincent. Normal adult mating behavior is simply too boring for these two, so they choose to include an unusual element of foreplay.

NatGeo cameras roll as Heather lies on a bed, wearing a black bra over her torso. She smiles widely to reveal sharpened canine teeth on either side of the top of her mouth (this gal doesn't half-ass the vampire business!). Vincent (same dental situation, FYI) sits in a chair next to the bed and gazes lovingly into Heather's eyes. He produces a small scalpel from his pocket. He draws it lightly across her skin just below her navel a few times, forming a ragged red X. Using his fingers (his fingernails are also sharpened so as to resemble claws) and the scalpel to draw the severed skin apart slightly, he collects small spots of blood on the blade and his index finger. Hastily, he draws his fingers and his blade to his lips, and laps up Heather's blood, relishing it lustily and eerily.

It is worth noting at this point that before beginning this ritual, Vincent sterilizes Heather's stomach with rubbing alcohol. You know, to prevent anything from enering his mouth and body that isn't supposed to get in...

I'm in favor of "vive la difference" and all that, but...eww. Yech. Ick. Right?

No lyrical selection tonight, due to lack of vampire-themed music (are you surprised). If you're dying for it, just take the song "Hair" from the eponymous musical and substitute in the word "blood."

An Alarming Revelation

I got the idea to post on this a few days when the idea first hit me, but naturally my laziness overcame my studious side.

A few weeks ago in my French class, we staged a relatively informal debate on the environment as a change-of-pace sort of way to get the class talking. My professor videotaped us for the purpose of showing the DVD to the class in order to point out phrases or idioms that we may have misused, etc. A good idea; no problem.

He showed us the video last week. My partner--who speaks much better French than I--and I were first up. As soon as TV Tim opened his big mouth, real-world Tim thought something closely along the lines of the following:

"Gadzooks! I never knew how annoying my voice sounded! I really ought to apologize to those who have had to deal with my constant jabbering on a daily basis. Aww, but then that would mean I would be doing even more talking on top of my normal load, thereby annoying them further. AAARRGHH, what's a weirdo to do!?!?!?"

This is not a new revelation per se, but it just seems that currently, my voice sounds more annoying and strange to others than it ever has.

It's a fascinating and strange phenomenon, when I experience it. I'm so used to hearing myself talk from a first-person perspective. But--for me, anyway--hearing myself talk from a third-person perspective is always quite jarring. This last time, I said to myself briefly, "Cripes! If I were someone else, well heck, I'd even be annoyed by my voice. That's a pretty grim idea, n'est-ce pas?

Thankfully, I got over this fleeting crisis in short order. Naturally, I know as well or better than anyone that it would be a fool's errand to try to suppress this unfortunate quirk of mine by cutting back on talking. So it appears as though I will blunder on, but with an added few thoughts on the matter:

Little experiences like the one I just described tend to put us in our place somewhat. It exposes something we tend to take for granted. It brings me back to perhaps the single most important lesson of my schooling: the first day of 8th grade, when my English teacher made clear for the class the meaning of the word "egocentrism"--the inability to think outside one's own perspective. At the time, I accepted it as a nifty word, useful in certain situations but otherwise fairly inconsequential. But in the years since then, it has become more and more clear to me that one of the most important battles we can wage is the battle over our own egocentrism. Realizing that my voice sounds rather different from my perspective, opposed to that of others, is just a small example of a fascinating struggle that must be undertaken.

C'est l'égoïsme; c'est la vie.

Tonight's lyrical selection: "The Battle of Evermore"

"Queen of Light took her bow, And then she turned to go,
The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom, And walked the night alone.

Oh, dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.
The dark Lord rides in force tonight, And time will tell us all.

Oh, throw down your plow and hoe, Rest not to lock your homes.

Side by side we wait the might of the darkest of them all.

I hear the horses' thunder down in the valley below,
I'm waiting for the angels of Avalon, waiting for the eastern glow.

The apples of the valley hold, The seeds of happiness,
The ground is rich from tender care, Repay, do not forget, no, no.
Dance in the dark of night, sing to the morning light.

The apples turn to brown and black, The tyrant's face is red.

Oh war is the common cry, Pick up your swords and fly.
The sky is filled with good and bad that mortals never know.

Oh, well, the night is long, the beads of time pass slow,
Tired eyes on the sunrise, waiting for the eastern glow.

The pain of war cannot exceed the woe of aftermath,
The drums will shake the castle wall, the ringwraiths ride in black, Ride on.

Sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before.
No comfort has the fire at night that lights the face so cold.

Oh dance in the dark of night, Sing to the morning light.
The magic runes are writ in gold to bring the balance back. Bring it back.

At last the sun is shining, The clouds of blue roll by,
With flames from the dragon of darkness, the sunlight blinds his eyes.

Ooh, Bring it back, Bring it back..."

Follitics

Yes, dear readers, I've coined a new term. "Folly" meets "politics." I'm hoping that it'll be bigger than "truthiness" eventually.

A few days ago, faux-political pundit Stephen Colbert announced his intention to run for president. As a result, I am ashamed and furious. Allow me to elaborate.

Colbert's obnoxiously grandiose entrance (whether or not it's a fabrication is irrelevant; it's the principle of the thing that grinds my gears) makes a political system that millions of people take for granted even less serious. In the 2004 presidential election, less than 61% of eligible American voters cast ballots. Just think about that for a moment, but not too much more than that, because if you have even half a brain, thinking about it for more than a moment might well cause your head to explode, and we don't need any more of that. Anyway, such a low voter-turnout rate shows that people are too busy spending their time feeding their addiction to Facebook, playing HALO, getting drunk, and smoking marijuana (read: doing other things less important than voting) to help guide the direction their country heads in. You know, no biggie.

What role does Stephen Colbert (fellows Bill Maher and Jon Stewart are also culpable) play in this mad dash to the septic tank? Well, you see, he's a comedian (a crappy one at that) who makes his living lampooning any and every aspect of the political system; the protocol, the people, etc. But now, in the ultimate show of bad taste and disrespect, he's actually trying to enter that political system--whether or not he's at all serious does not matter--in a blatant attempt to subvert the system even more. To stand for the antics of this clown constitutes a complete disregard for the reasons why America as a whole is better off than the rest of the world. And that's no better than burning an American flag as an American citizen (an atrocity I believe should be repaid with immediate, permanent exile from the country, no questions asked).

The icing on the cake? My generation is taking this bag of nonsense and running amok with it. There is a Facebook group called "1,000,000 Strong For Stephen T Colbert," which now has 1,125,175 members. It's unspeakably, pathetically sad. It really is.

No lyrical selection tonight. Instead, I will define this new term.

fol•li•tics [fol-i-tics]
-noun (used with a singular or plural verb)
1. The deliberate mockery of the system of government, manifested by participation in said system, e.g. Stephen Colbert's stated intention to run for president.
2. The use of politics as a joke.

Sentence: Stephen Colbert is a prime example of how the American government system has turned into mere follitics.

The War On Texting

I can hold in my objections no longer. I am officially declaring war on text-messaging as the new American pastime.

Have we really become so obsessed with "instant communication" that we must resort to this inane, distracting exercise? I try my best not to do it, and even when I must resort to it, I feel dirty such that I am compelled to take a shower immediately afterwards. Whenever I see the cell phone company (Verizon?) commercial whose main subject is the girl who sends "a record 43 text messages in three minutes," I must work hard to suppress my own vomit.

Why does text messaging irk me so? Well, dear readers, its principal function seems to be an expansion on the gross misuse of iPods--the continued individual self-isolation in society and the death of tavern culture. Put simply, people now much prefer to lock themselves up in their own little bubbles, rather than interacting with others. The contribution to this unsettling phenomenon by text-messaging (I refuse to use "text" as a verb, because that's just preposterous) is that people walk around with their noses buried in their RAZRs, SLVRs, and iPhones (that the Internet has been brought into the palms of our hands is a rant for another evening, and probably would go much like this one anyway), lifting nary an eyelash to acknowledge their fellow Man.

Maybe I'm asking too much, but I get anxious when I see people looking down at their phones instead of eating [insert meal name here], watching a movie, pulling out money or University Cards to purchase something, etc. Maybe I wish to wage war against text-messaging because I'm a wannabe attention-hog (which is a problem, knowing full-well that my strangeness repels many people). Maybe I really am a 65 year old at heart (after, some of my college peers have made that observation independent of my high school peers). Maybe I'm bored and have nothing better to write about. Who knows. All I can say is the following:

1. Please join me in the War on Text-Messaging, and
2. A pox on you, Tommy "Two-Thumbs" Thompson. A pox on you and your ilk!

Tonight's lyrical selection: "I'm Looking Through You," by The Beatles

"I'm looking through you,
where did you go?
I thought I knew you,
what did I know?
You don't look different, but you have changed.
I'm looking through you, you're not the same.

Your lips are moving,
I cannot hear.
Your voice is soothing,
but the words aren't clear.
You don't sound differnt,
I've learned the game.
I'm looking through you,
you're not the same.

Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight.

You're thinking of me,
the same old way.
You were above me,
but not today.
The only difference is you're down there.
I'm looking through you,
any other way.

Why, tell me why did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight.

I'm looking through you,
where did you go?
I thought I knew you,
what did I know?
You don't look different,
but you have changed.
I'm looking through you,
you're not the same!"

A Note Of Thanks And Some Thoughts On All This

Because I can't hope to respond individually to a few dozen Facebook Wall postings (as much as I'd like to), I would like to thank warmly and sincerely everyone who wished me a happy birthday. It's nice to feel remembered, To those whom I have known for some years, I miss you all dearly, and to know that you're still thinking of me (even if it's only because Facebook has reminded you) warms my heart. To those whom I have know only briefly, I thank you graciously for your well-wishes, and I look forward to what lies ahead in your company.

It was a fairly inauspicious day. Nothing too grandiose. Just a couple classes, shooting the breeze with friends, dinner with friends, more shooting the breeze with friends. I am mostly alone in my section of the dorm (we don't have class again until Monday, so a lot of people who haven't gone home for the weekend are out on adventures and at social gatherings). My well-meaning neighbors were not able to convince me to break my vow not to explore the high-octane (and high-ethanol) social scene here until after fall golf is over. Sitting here, I am bathed in a feeling of dignity. Even though "18" is simply 17 + 1 on one level, the revelation that I am now 18 years old, recognized by the State as an adult, I am tempted to allow a certain new feeling of dignity to come over me. The next minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades will determine whether or not I have earned that dignity. It's going to be an adventure.

It's bittersweet, for sure. I don't know if I'll go so far as to say that this marks the end of my childhood, but I have to think that if not, the time to shrug off the title of "old boy" and the time to put on the title of "young man" fast approaches. It's going to be an adventure.

No lyrical selection this evening. The obvious choice is The Beatles' "Birthday," which would render its inclusion in this post rather cliché.

What A Stupid I Am

Ever since about the second week of college, I have been feeling pretty good about not being too overloaded with work. In fact, I derived a certain amount of amusement from hearing people speaking nervously of the stress caused by the amount of schoolwork they had to do. I was actually a little nervous, thinking that my relatively light workload meant that I might be taking classes that weren't taxing enough. Well thankfully and un-thankfully, I don't have to worry about any of that tonight. I realized that part of the reason why I felt as though I didn't have much work the past few weeks is that without even realizing, I had been neglecting to do a decent portion of it.

Apparently, college professors like to assign work, but sometimes don't collect it, at least not on the day it's due. Because of my hilariously pathetic failure to realize this and motivate myself to do the work anyway, I am now faced with a scary amount of backlogged French homework, AND I have to watch a movie and write a page-long critique of it, to be handed in tomorrow. I'll be 18 years old in a little more than two hours, and I still have yet to get with the program. Ah well. It's going to be a sleepy birthday.

Welcome to college, Tim, ya dumbass.

Tonight's lyrical selection: "Murder Incorporated," by Bruce Springsteen

"Bobby's got a gun that he keeps beneath his pillow (oh yeah)
Out on the street your chances are zero (oh yeah)
Take a look around you (come on down)
It ain't too complicated
You're messin' with Murder Incorporated

Now you check over your shoulder everywhere that you go (oh yeah)
Walkin' down the street, there's eyes in every shadow (oh yeah)
You better take a look around you (come on down)
That equipment you got's so outdated
You can't compete with Murder Incorporated
Everywhere you look now there's Murder Incorporated

So you keep a little secret down deep inside your dresser drawer
From dealing with the heat you're feelin' down on the killin' floor
No matter where you step you feel you're never out of danger
So the comfort that you keep 's a gold-plated snub-nose thirty-two
I heard that you

You got a job downtown, man it leaves your head cold (oh yea)
And everywhere you look life ain't got no soul (oh yeah)
That apartment you live in feels like it's just a place to hide
When your walkin' down the streets you won't meet no one eye to eye
Now the cops reported you as just another homicide
I can tell that you was just frustrated
from livin' with Murder Incorporated

Murder Incorporated
Everywhere you look now
Murder Incorporated
Down on your knees
Murder Incorporated
Everywhere that you turn it's Murder Incorporated."

Weekend

Even though I have never been a skilled poet, I nevertheless have given it a shot this evening. I just kind of dashed it off in 20 minutes or so. Kindly tell me what you think.

~~~

"Shower, Friday, 7:30 PM"

All is quiet in the dormitory.
Everyone else is out celebrating the
arrival of the weekend “properly.”
Sweaty, sticky, I step into the shower stall.

All is silent. Most everyone else is out
giving their brains the evening off.

I turn the dial. Cold drops startle me,
but soon the water warms up. The shampoo
tingles as I rub it vigorously into my scalp.
To cleanse one’s body is soothing;
I will never understand the urge to
pollute so willingly something so valuable.

In seven hours, I am likely to be awakened rudely
by wild yelling in the dormitory hall
by people whose brains have the evening off,
whose brains have been replaced
by pitiful, fleeting impostors.
I do not begrudge them their revelry;
I am simply different, perhaps dull.

I dry myself off; I dress for an evening
of reading, writing, thinking.
My brain’s employer is relentless.

~~~

Tonight's lyrical selection: "Song For The Asking," by Simon & Garfunkel.

"Here is my song for the asking,
Ask me and I will play,
So sweetly I make you smile.

Here is my tune for the taking,
Take it, don't turn away,
I've been waiting all my life.

Thinking it over I've been sad,
Thinking it over I'd be more than glad to change my ways,
For the asking,
Ask me and I will play,
All the love that I hold inside."

Getting Old

So in about 3 1/2 weeks, I will turn 18 years old. I will be an adult, by all legal standards. In the not-too-distant past, I've not thought much on this fact. I have been wont to dismiss it a just another year of age when in fact, it's quite significant. This change of mind was complete when in the course of dinner conversation the other night, I informed my (golf) teammates that I am not yet 18. This was met with a few looks of disbelief which prompted my current thinking.

What does this change of age mean for me?

- The most important fact that accompanies my turning 18 is the ability vote, which I consider to be one of the most important rights an American has. And seeing how it is important, millions of Americans naturally take it for granted. I have my own views on this issue, but that is a future post unto itself.

When I turn 18, I will be old enough to...

- Be drafted--I don't believe I need to worry about that.
- Purchase tobacco products--Smoking is a nasty un-necessity to me, so that's irrelevant.
- I also don't see myself visiting any houses of adult entertainment, on account of their derogatory and objectifying nature, so that's right out.
- I don't see myself getting married very soo, so the procurement of a marriage license isn't of importance.

The change that 18 brings is mostly psychological. By American societal convention, I will be old enough to fend for myself in 3 1/2 weeks' time. That notion scares the piss out of me. I know that I don't have the wherewithal to be an independent person at this time. Heck, the fact that I am now in college both deeply concerns and strongly excites me. I marvel at those who are my age and are so independent; I know that I'd be hard pressed to survive out in the Big Bad world if misfortune thrust me out into it. It's times like this that I realize how truly fortunate I am. And I also realize how foolish I have been to succumb to laziness and a selfish sense of entitlement at times. Perhaps turning eighteen will turn the "adult" switch in me and cause me to be more savvy. But for now, I'm just an intelligent, strange kid sitting in his dorm room on a beautiful September afternoon.

(As if there were any doubt as to the lyrical selection for today) "Eighteen," by Alice Cooper

“Lines form on my face and hands,
Lines form from the ups and downs,
I'm in the middle without any plans,
I'm a boy and I'm a man.

I'm eighteen,
And I don't know what I want.
Eighteen,
I just don't know what I want.
Eighteen,
I gotta get away.
I gotta get out of this place.
I'll go runnin in outer space.
Oh yeah.

I got a,
Baby's brain and an old man's heart,
Took eighteen years to get this far.
Don't always know what I'm talkin' about,
Feels like I'm livin’ in the middle of doubt,
Cause I'm,

Eighteen,
I get confused every day.
Eighteen,
I just don't know what to say.
Eighteen,
I gotta get away.

Lines form on my face and my hands,
Lines form on the left and right,
I'm in the middle,
the middle of life,
I'm a boy and I'm a man,
I'm eighteen and I LIKE IT.
Yes I like it..
Oh I like it,
Love it,
Like it,
Love it,
Eighteen!
Eighteen!
Eighteen!
Eighteen and I LIKE IT…”

Notes From An 85 Degree Dorm Room At 11 PM On A Friday Night

Good evening. I know it's been a while since I last wrote something, but that's the way it goes. Now that I'm in Academic Mode, I hope to have more to write about. Time will tell.

Well as you should glean from the title, I'm not out partying, as is likely over three-quarters of my fellow students at this idyllic little place in the Virginia mountains. I've decided quite finally that partying is not really my thing, and that even though it is the #1 way to meet people 'round these parts, I'd rather meet people who aren't, as Sir Thomas Malory might say, "enchafed by the heat of wine [or in the 21st century case, Natural Light."

This is not to say that I look down upon people who choose to socialize in this manner. Heck, whereas I used to staunchly oppose any ideas of lowering the drinking age to 18, I know understand that it is a valid idea. Anyway, I recognize that many people enjoy consuming alcohol in order to "loosen-up" a bit. I just don't partake because I am obsessed with keeping in as much control of my faculties as I can.

I realize that the above ideas put me in the minority here in Academic Utopia. This is nothing new to me. In the past, I thrived on being unusual. But as of yet, I have yet to hit my stride. I really (I mean *really* really) want to serve this school in the way I served my former school, but I am unsure of whether I can gain the kind of recognition that would allow me to do so in the manner that I wish to do so.

Anyhoo, I suppose that this is kind of a melancholy little post. It gets kinda lonely 'round here at times, but I'll muddle through. I always have.

Tonight's lyrical selection: "People are Strange," by The Doors

"People are strange when you’re a stranger,
Faces look ugly when you’re alone,
Women seem wicked when you’re unwanted,
Streets are uneven when you’re down,
When you’re strange,
Faces come out of the rain,
When you’re strange,
No one remembers your name,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange…

People are strange when you’re a stranger,
Faces look ugly when you’re alone,
Women seem wicked when you’re unwanted,
Streets are uneven when you’re down,
When you’re strange,
Faces come out of the rain,
When you’re strange,
No one remembers your name,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange…

When you’re strange,
Faces come out of the rain,
When you’re strange,
No one remembers your name,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange,
When you’re strange…"

For Lack Of Original Material To Publish

Everyone's been doing survey things, so...

(hopefully this'll show up properly)

Odd Facts about ME
DO YOU SNORE?:	No one's ever accused me of it.
LOVER OR A FIGHTER?:	Hey man, I'm just a lover, man.
WHAT'S YOUR WORST FEAR?:	Big, sweeping change.
AS A KID, WERE YOU A LEGO BUILDER?:	No, but i dabbled in Duplos.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF "REALITY TV"?:	I hate it.
DO YOU CHEW ON YOUR STRAWS?:	Vigorously.
WERE YOU A CUTE BABY?:	Very, even if i do say so myself.
HOW IS THE SINGLE LIFE FOR YOU?:	Okay, I suppose.
WHAT COLOR IS YOUR KEYBOARD?:	Silver, or grey (depending on your world outlook).
DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER?:	I sing most everywhere.
HAVE YOU EVER BUNGEE JUMPED?:	No, and I don't intend to do so.
ANY SECRET TALENTS?:	If I had them and revealed them, they would no longer be deemed "secret."
WHAT'S YOUR IDEAL VACATION SPOT?:	Pawleys Island, South Carolina or Sonomo or Napa Counties, California.
HAVE YOU EATEN SUSHI?:	Yes, and I love it.
HAVE YOU SEEN THE MOVIE "DONNIE DARKO"?:	No.
DO YOU GIVE A DARN ABOUT THE OZONE?:	Fourteen and a half darns, in fact.
HOW MANY LICKS DOES IT TAKE TO GET TO THE CENTER OF A TOOTSIE POP?:	I haven't the foggiest of ideas.
CAN YOU SING THE ALPHABET BACKWARDS?:	I've never made an attempt
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON AN AIRPLANE?:	Yes.
ARE SPEEDO'S HOT?:	No.
WHAT'S YOUR STAND ON HUNTING?:	It's biologically sound, in moderation.
IS MARRIAGE IN YOUR FUTURE?:	And little Gavriches, hopefully. But a while in the future, of course.
DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?:	Yes, but only because it's absurdly messy.
WHAT ARE YOU ALLERGIC TO?:	Nothing.
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAID, "I LOVE YOU":	Earlier this evening.
IS TUPAC STILL ALIVE?:	No.
DO YOU CRY AT WEDDINGS?:	I doubt I would, but I do cry from time to time (I'm a sensitive male for the 21st century).
HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS?:	As an omelette, I think.
ARE BLONDES DUMB?:	Not at all.
WHERE DOES THE OTHER SOCK END UP?:	Hopefully on my foot.
WHAT TIME IS IT?:	11:39 PM
DO YOU HAVE A NICKNAME?:	A teacher once mispronounced my last name, so some people now call me Garbage.
IS MCDONALD'S DISGUSTING?:	Only if you eat there more than once every two months or so.
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WERE IN A CAR?:	This past afternoon.
DO YOU PREFER BATHS OR SHOWERS?:	Showers.
IS SANTA CLAUSE REAL?:	One never knows.
ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK?:	A teensy bit.
WHAT ARE YOU ADDICTED TO?:	Golf, talking, food.
CRUNCHY OR CREAMY PEANUT BUTTER?:	Crunchy.
HAVE YOU EVER RIDDEN IN AN AMBULANCE?:	No.
HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU BRUSHED YOUR TEETH TODAY?:	Twice.
IS DRUG FREE THE WAY TO BE?:	Yes.
ARE YOU WEARING SOCKS?:	Not at the moment.
HAVE YOU EVER HITCH HIKED?:	No; that's how people get killed.
WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES?:	Brown.
WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?:	Just a couple minutes ago.
DO YOU LIKE YOUR LIFE?:	Very, very, very much.
WHOSE LIFE IS BETTER?:	No one that I know of.
ARE YOU PSYCHIC?:	No.
HAVE YOU READ "CATCHER IN THE RYE"?:	My all-time favorite novel. Period.
DO YOU PLAY ANY INSTRUMENTS?:	Alto saxophone and tenor saxophone.
CAN YOU SKATEBOARD?:	No.
DO YOU LIKE CAMPING?:	No.
DO U SNORT WHEN U LAUGH?:	No, but I have shed tears from laughing so hard.
DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC?:	I believe in mystical occurrences, visions, and experiences.
IS A DOG A MAN'S BEST FRIEND?:	I don't see Man's relationship with animals in that way. But, I dearly love my dog.
YOU BELIEVE IN DIVORCE?:	Yes, but only in extreme circumstances.
CAN YOU DO THE MOONWALK?:	No.
DOES YOUR MOM KNOW YOU HAVE A MYSPACE?:	Yes, but I am trustworthy.
WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?:	Ice cream.
DO YOU WEAR NAILPOLISH?:	No.
DO YOU LIKE SOMEONE RIGHT NOW?:	Yes.
WHAT'S THE MOST ANNOYING TV COMMERCIAL?:	HeadOn Headache Relief.
DO YOU SHOP AT AMERICAN EAGLE?:	No.
FAVORITE BAND AT THE MOMENT?:	The Doors.
Take this survey | Find more surveys Bzoink - The Original Survey Site

Long Time, No Talky-Talky

It's been a while since I last graced the Information Superhighway with my semi-organized blathering, so I'll endeavor to make this brief.

To put it bluntly, I had the nerd-highlight of my life today. If it is not already apparent to you, I am a nerd, and a proud one at that. One of my nerdiest daily activities is a few games of Scrabble through the Internet Scrabble Club (isc.ro ...join me, won't you? My ID is tgavrich07). Anyhoo, during the course of a game today, I played the word "fellated," with the "f" on a red Triple Word Score space, and garnered 88 points. I ended up winning the game. As I punched in this brilliantly irreverent play, I chuckled aloud, and did a "Yesssssss" that would have brought an envious smile to even the stoic face of Napoleon Dynamite.

Well that's all for now. Call me a nerd if you want--I'll cop to it. But you can still talk to me. I'll try not to breathe on you...honest!

Tonight's lyrical selection is especially apt, I feel.

"White and Nerdy," by 'Weird' Al Yankovic

"They see me mowin'
My front lawn
I know they're all thinking
I'm so White N' nerdy

Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Can't you see I'm white n' nerdy
Look at me I'm white n' nerdy!
I wanna roll with-
The gangsters
But so far they all think
I'm too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
I'm just too white n' nerdy
Really, really white n' nerdy

First in my class here at M.I.T.
Got skills, I'm a Champion of DND
MC Escher that's my favorite MC
Keep your 40
I'll just have an Earl Grey tea
My rims never spin to the contrary
You'll find they're quite stationary
All of my action figures are cherry
Steven Hawkings in my library
My MySpace page is all totally pimped out
I got people begging for my top 8 spaces
Yo I know Pi to a thousand places
Ain't got no grills but I still wear braces
I order all of my sandwiches with mayonnaise
I'm a whiz at minesweeper I can play for days
Once you see my sweet moves you're gonna stay amazed,
my fingers movin' so fast I'll set the place ablaze
There's no killer app I haven't run
At Pascal, well, I'm number 1
Do vector calculus just for fun
I ain't got a gat but I gotta soldering gun
Happy days is my favourite theme song
I can sure kick your butt in a game of ping pong
I'll ace any trivia quiz you bring on
I'm fluent in Java Script as well as Klingon

They see me roll on, my Segway!
I know in my heart they think I'm
white n' nerdy!
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Can't you see I'm white n' nerdy
Look at me I'm white n' nerdy
I'd like to roll with-
The gangsters
Although it's apparent I'm too
White n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
I'm just too white n' nerdy
How'd I get so white n' nerdy?

I've been browsing, inspectin'
X-men comics you know I collect 'em
The pens in my pocket
I must protect 'em
my ergonomic keyboard never leaves me bored
Shopping online for deals on some writable media
I edit Wikipedia
I memorized Holy Grail really well
I can recite it right now and have you ROTFLOL
I got a business doing websites
When my friends need some code who do they call?
I do HTML for them all
Even made a homepage for my dog!
Yo! Got myself a fanny pack
they were having a sale down at the GAP
Spend my nights with a roll of bubble wrap
POP POP! Hope no one sees me gettin' freaky!

I'm nerdy in the extreme and whiter than sour creme
I was in AV club and Glee club and even the chess team!
Only question I ever thought was hard
Was do I like Kirk or do I like Picard?
I spend every weekend
at the renaissance fair
I got my name on my under wear!

They see me strollin'
They laughin'
And rollin' their eyes 'cause
I'm so white n' nerdy
Just because I'm white n' nerdy
Just because I'm white n' nerdy
All because I'm white n' nerdy
Holy cow I'm white n' nerdy
I wanna bowl with-
the gangsters
but oh well it's obvious I'm
white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
Think I'm just too white n' nerdy
I'm just too white n' nerdy
Look at me I'm white n' nerdy!"

A Goode (sic), Humourous (sic) Programme (sic)

Well I'm sitting in a easy chair in my basement. It's 10:30 PM, and I'm watching what I have always thought was one of the most underrated shows of all time. That show, of course, is "The Wonder Years," which I have recently discovered, on channel 10 (ion TV is the name of the channel) from 10-11PM on weeknights (jeez, that sentence is choppier than the North Sea during a bad winter; sorry about that).

Anyhoo, although I quite enjoy watching "The Wonder Years," it does make me kinda sad. I find myself envious of the characters in the show, even when they're having a tough time of things. And the narration by an older, wiser Kevin Arnold (the show's protagonist) is spot-on, capturing nearly perfectly the feelings of a typical teenage boy towards life's little things. And therein lies the brilliance of "The Wonder Years." Even though it is so highly idealistic, it works very well. Even though it may be slightly dated, it is nearly as much Americana as hot dogs and apple pie.

Anyway, this wasn't a terribly insightful post (more like a plug for a nostalgic TV favorite), but it's more than nothing (though I suppose some might disagree).

Tonight's lyrical suggestion is quite obvious if you know "The Wonder Years." It is "With A Little Help From My Friends," by The Beatles.

"What would you think if I sang out of tune,
Would you stand up and walk out on me?
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,
And I'll try not to sing out of key.
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I get high with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I'm gonna to try with a little help from my friends.

What do I do when my love is away?
(Does it worry you to be alone?)
How do I feel by the end of the day?
(Are you sad because you're on your own?)
No, I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I get high with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I'm gonna to try with a little help from my friends

Do you need anybody?
I need somebody to love.
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love.

(Would you believe in a love at first sight?)
Yes I'm certain that it happens all the time.
(What do you see when you turn out the light?)
I can't tell you, but I know it's mine.
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm I get high with a little help from my friends,
Oh I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends

Do you need anybody?
I just need someone to love.
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love.
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends,
Mmm gonna try with a little help from my friends
Oh I get high with a little help from my friends
Yes I get by with a little help from my friends,
With a little help from my friends..."

A Collection of Thoughts

My apologies for a somewhat prolonged lull in the action. To those of you still reading, bless you.

So, quite a lot has happened since last I wrote. Well perhaps that is a bit of an overstatement, but there are a couple things worth mentioning.
~ ~ ~
First of all, after graduating high school, I attended my first and second major booze-fueled social gatherings. And while I did not really drink at either (my personal feelings about alcohol are fodder for another post, but suffice it to say I'm not a fan), I must admit that I had a good time. Though I was a little unsettled to see so many of my friends and acquaintances stumbling and slurring their words and carrying on quite a lot, it was good fun to see people getting along so well. I was also pleased that no one placed too much pressure on me to drink. My personal distaste for consuming alcohol was respected, and I salute everyone for being kind in that way. I also had a wonderful time going to and fro with my van-mates (you know who you are), so all in all, it was a good weekend.

I will close this segment by saying that after these parties, I had somewhat mixed feelings about taking such a strict stance at these parties. However, I do not lament the time I had, and am sure I will figure out the right measure of personal strictness in college.

This evening's lyrical selection is somewhat random, but I like the song, so whatever.

"If You See Her, Say Hello," by Bob Dylan

"If you see her, say hello, she might be in Tangier
She left here last early spring, is livin' there, I hear
Say for me that I'm all right though things get kind of slow
She might think that I've forgotten her, don't tell her it isn't so.

We had a falling-out, like lovers often will
And to think of how she left that night, it still brings me a chill
And though our separation, it pierced me to the heart
She still lives inside of me, we've never been apart.

If you get close to her, kiss her once for me
I always have respected her for busting out and gettin' free
Oh, whatever makes her happy, I won't stand in the way
Though the bitter taste still lingers on from the night I tried to make her stay.

I see a lot of people as I make the rounds
And I hear her name here and there as I go from town to town
And I've never gotten used to it, I've just learned to turn it off
Either I'm too sensitive or else I'm gettin' soft.

Sundown, yellow moon, I replay the past
I know every scene by heart, they all went by so fast
If she's passin' back this way, I'm not that hard to find
Tell her she can look me up if she's got the time."

The End Of An Era

Well, ladies and gentlemen, that's all she wrote. My high school years are over. And I must remark that the last four years were well spent (not to mention the thousands of tuition dollars doled out by Ma and Pa). Now, I feel obligated to engage in some brief recapitulation of my high school years.

WHAT I ENJOY(ED)/FELT GOOD ABOUT:
- The People: I count myself extraordinarily fortunate to have coexisted with so many wonderfully bright, friendly people. People from various backgrounds, who created an environment of ideas from various perspectives. I know that had I attended public high school, I would not have been exposed to such vibrant characters and minds.
- The Learning: With such sharp, excellent faculty as there are at my now-alma mater (God, it makes me feel old to say that), who needs certification in education? Male and female, younger and older alike, there have been a great many adults who partially donate their own minds in the hopes of growing those of their students. Perhaps I will someday try my hand at teaching (though I'm sure some of you might not want to subject your children to my oddness), and this feeling is because of those who have taught me not only how to read critically, but to THINK critically. I now understand how to analyze myself as I would a great work of literature, and I am eternally grateful for all the wisdom to which our teachers have exposed all of us.
- The Community: I am touched by the keen ability in the school to understand people's differences and embrace them. My school has set an admirable example in this way; because of the wide range of interests that one may pursue, one is seldom at a loss for something interesting to do. Hardly anyone is unable to follow his/her own path (assuming that path is within reason, of course) because of the breadth of interests served by the school. I for one have always considered myself as existing outside the "mainstream," but I have never felt out-of-place, and for that I am indeed grateful.

WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN BETTER:
- The Society: While I believe the school knows how to celebrate one's differences, I have felt on occasion that some students band together and do not mirror the views of the school. I have at times seen and heard undeserved ridicule, and I am saddened that we are not more tolerant. But with the right leadership, people can be shown a more supportive attitude, and fewer people will feel resentment of "normal" and "cool" students. We all deserve a fair shake, and sometimes I have felt that certain people have been slighted.

As you can see, my general complaints about my high school experience are relatively minor when compared with my compliments of the period. I will air a few grievances against myself, however.
- I didn't exactly capitalize on the opportunity to "begin anew" and establish a more standard reputation than I had had in middle school. Don't get me wrong--I have never wanted to be a conformist, and I know I'm not cut out for garden-variety "coolness," but I think I could have done a decidedly better job of integrating myself into school society.
- I underachieved academically. I had a chance to wow the masses, and I just never found the motivation to do things like reading ahead in textbooks, going in for a lot of extra help, and studying seriously for important examinations. I certainly hope that I will learn these valuable skills shortly after the beginning of the next stage of my education.
- And speaking of underachievement, in terms of matters of the heart, I remain utterly, profoundly deficient. No more need be said of that.

Anyhoo, when all positives and negatives are taken into account, I give my high school experience a solid B. Not bad, but there is room for improvement. College begins the last week in August, and I will set about working on improving upon the solid B at that time. But fear not, I shall continue to blog, so stay tuned.

Tonight's lyrical selection: "Don't Stop," by Fleetwood Mac

"If you wake up and dont want to smile,
If it takes just a little while,
Open your eyes and look at the day,
You'll see things in a different way.

Dont stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Dont stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterdays gone, yesterdays gone.

Why not think about times to come,
And not about the things that you've done,
If your life was bad to you,
Just think what tomorrow will do.

Dont stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Dont stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterdays gone, yesterdays gone.

All I want is to see you smile,
Even if it takes just a little while,
I know you don't believe that its true,
I never meant any harm to you.

Dont stop, thinking about tomorrow,
Dont stop, it'll soon be here,
It'll be, better than before,
Yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone.

Don't you look back,
Don't you look back..."

Guilty Pleasures, etc.

For some, it's chocolate. Others, expensive clothing. Still others, BDSM. Everyone has 'em. Mine is a little thing called "The Soup."

Yes, readers, I love the show "The Soup" on E!. I know, it seems to run against my policy of finding the comings and goings of celebrities revolting and utterly petty, but I cannot help myself. The show--despite the fact that it discusses things that I abhor with every fiber of my being (and if you know me, that's a lot of fibers!)--is brilliantly zany and enthralling. Despite being a decidedly B- to C-list comedian, Joel McHale delivers silly and offbeat jokes with a kind of panache that makes them not only palatable, but enjoyable. Segments such as "Oprah's Va-jay-jay," "Let's Take Some E," and the "Kickass Clip of the Week" contain just the right mix of satire and bizarro celebrity behavior to divert one's attention from serious, worthwhile matters, if only for a brief, savory half hour.

~~~

In other news, I am about to shed my status as a "high school student," though that title in reference to me really deserves an asterisk (I have hardly behaved like a normal high school student, as you will soon see). In a brief eight days, I will cry like a little baby at Commencement, knowing that my days of sleeping on my cushy featherbed at home are numbered not in the hundreds, but in the dozens.

~~~

In still other news, I will be attending my first proper party the day after Commencement. I am both extremely excited and apprehensive about the experience. I am excited because I am eager to learn what such gatherings are like (I don't get out much, if you have not already caught on). I am quite apprehensive, however, because being the Class Dad, I have always stayed on the path of lawfulness and righteousness. I don't intend to become inebriated (I prefer to spend my evenings lucid), but I have a sneaking suspicion that some people are curious as to what an inebriated Gavrich would be like. I don't know if I want to know that myself. Ah well. It shall be interesting, regardless.

Tonights lyrical selection: "Streams of Whiskey," by The Pogues

"Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with Behan
I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
When questioned on his views
On the crux of life's philosophies
He had but these few clear and simple words to say

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I have cursed, bled and sworn
Jumped bail and landed up in jail
Life has often tried to stretch me
But the rope always was slack
And now that Ive a pile
Ill go down to the chelsea
Ill walk in on my feet
But Ill leave there on my back

Because I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
There's nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
Ill walk into a bar
And drink fifteen pints of beer

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing."

Score One For Justice!

Well my life is pretty boring at the moment, but Paris Hilton's isn't!

From fox.com:

"Psychiatrist: Paris Hilton 'Distraught' and 'Traumatized' Over Jail Sentence"

LOS ANGELES — Paris Hilton is "emotionally distraught and traumatized" over her 45-day jail sentence and isn't capable of testifying in a civil lawsuit against her, the socialite-reality TV star's psychiatrist said.

Dr. Charles Sophy has been seeing Hilton, 26, for the past eight months and has talked with her several times since her May 4 hearing for violating the terms of her probation in an alcohol-related reckless driving case, according to court papers.

Sophy said Hilton needs time to recover from the shock of receiving jail time before testifying in a civil case brought against her by actress and diamond heiress Zeta Graff.

Messages left with Hilton's spokesman and lawyer weren't immediately returned early Tuesday.

In court papers filed Monday, Sophy said Hilton is "distraught and traumatized as a consequence of the findings at the May 4 hearing ... and her fear of incarceration."

"At this point in time," he continued, "Ms. Hilton cannot effectively respond to examination as a witness or provide any significant input into her defense."

Graff filed a $10 million lawsuit against Hilton in 2005, claiming the reality TV star spread "vicious lies" about her. Hilton has denied that she was behind a report alleging Graff once tried to grab a necklace worth $4 million from her throat.

Superior Court Judge Linda K. Lefkowitz postponed the trial to August. It had been scheduled to begin this month.

Hilton and her pal Nicole Richie star on "The Simple Life," which throws them into everyday situations. After famously feuding and filming their parts separately last season, the celebutantes have reunited as camp counselors for the show's upcoming installment on the Comcast Corp.-operated E! network.

~~~~~~~~
From Gavrich's Brain:

I for one am ecstatic to see that for once, the rich and famous can't buy their way out of trouble. Boy, would I love to see the look on Paris' face when she meets her new roommates. Now that would be a reality show worth watching! It would be just the next edition of The Simple Life. Ah yes, I can see it now: "The Simple Life: In the Jailhouse Now"

Speaking of which, tonight's lyrical selection

"In The Jailhouse Now," written by Jimmie Rodgers (as performed by The Soggy Bottom Boys in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"

"I had a friend named Ramblin' Bob,
Who used to steal, gamble and rob,
He thought he was the smartest guy in town.
But I found out last Monday,
That Bob got locked up Sunday,
They've got him in the jailhouse way down town.

He's in the jailhouse now, he's in the jailhouse now,
I told him once or twice, quit playin' cards and shootin' dice,
He's in the jailhouse now.

He played a game called poker pinochle with Dan Yoker,
But shooting dice was his greatest game,
Now he's downtown in jail nobody to go his bail.
The judge done said that he refused a fine,

He's in the jailhouse now, he's in the jailhouse now,
I told him once or twice, quit playin' cards and shootin' dice
He's in the jailhouse now.

I went out last Tuesday, met a gal named Susie,
Told her I was the swellest guy around.
We started to spend my money,
Then she started to call me honey,
We took in every cabaret in town.

We're in the jailhouse now,
We're in the jailhouse now,
I told the judge right to his face,
We didn't like to see this place,
We're in the jailhouse now."

Oh, The Irony!

I meant to opine about this incident when it was fresh in my mind, but due to my debilitating inability to be proactive in most anything, here it is, five days after the fact.

I am a pretty competitive person, which can be a problem when you're as generally athletically deficient as I am. Luckily, though, I am able to play golf with a decent amount of proficiency. So, ergo, I am a very competitive golfer.

Last Wednesday, my team had a match against three other teams. It was the most important match of the season to-date. Happily, I was able to piece together a very good round of even-par 70, which was good enough for a tie for the low individual score for the match. The other co-medalist shall remain nameless, but let's just say he was named after a Caesar. Anyway, upon finding out that my team had beaten his team (quite an upset), I was extremely happy, as anyone who could understand the gravity of such a victory would be. But evidently, I was a little too happy for this unnamed player, who very sternly said, "Have some f***ing class, Gavrich."

Now surely you see the irony of this. Why use the expletive in an effort to be more classy than another? It is a question I have mulled over at length, and am still at a loss to answer.

But wait, there's more irony!

I was later informed by a teammate that I have earned a nickname among the team to which the would-be Arbiter of Class belongs. My nickname: "Timothy Faggot." Thanks, guys. You're so classy; I wanna be just like you when I grow up...NOT!

Tonight's lyrical selection: "Poor Boy Down," by Mike + The Mechanics:
"He's a poor boy in his pocket
he's a poor boy in his shoes.
he's done his time
he's stood in line
that boy has paid his dues.

He ain't looking for a handout
he's just looking for a start
he don't hate anyone
he don't carry a gun
you can tell that kid is smart.
So you can't
REFRAIN: Keep that poor boy down,
You can't keep that poor boy down,

you can be unkind
you can rob him blind
but you can't keep that poor boy down.
(REFRAIN)
you can lie and cheat
you can chain his feet
but you can't keep that poor boy down.

And all down throught the ages
the kid's been treated rough
just take a look
in any history book
you can see that times were tough.

Now we move up to the nineties
up to the 21st
one day he'll stand
a full grown man
and be the same as all of us.
So you can't

(REFRAIN)

you can lock him up
you can break his cup
but you can't keep that poor boy down.

(REFRAIN)

You can fight and steal
you can drag your heels
but you can't keep that poor boy dow

(REFRAIN)

You can kick his ass
if the kid's got class
you can't keep that poor boy down.

(REFRAIN)

Let's stop the truck
go back and pick him up
you can't keep that poor boy down.

Let him go!"

Something Momentous

Well readers, it appears as though barring any monumental academic collapse or significant legal misadventure, I am headed to the mountains of Virginia and Washington & Lee University next year. I look eagerly forward to four more years spent in an idyllic setting among fellow intellectuals, learning, playing, relaxing, and "becoming my best self," as Big Freddy Nietzsche would say. That said, I am still apprehensive about a few things.

- LEAVING THE NEST: I tend to grow homesick after being apart from my family for a period of time. I suppose everyone does, but mixed in with the blissful hours I will spend among new friends and colleagues, there will be periods of loneliness mixed in. Such is college, and such is life.
- KEEPING UP: I have always had outside motivation for doing my work diligently and to the best of my abilities. I won't have many eyes looking over my shoulder, making sure I'm on task and on time. I would like to think that I will be able to grasp the reins of responsibility and use them effectively, but I am somewhat uncertain. It will be an interesting experience.
- LIVING IN HARMONY: I am fairly confident that for better or worse, the people with whom I will be living next year have never encountered someone quite like me. I will go to them (and they to me) with a clean slate. What sort of reputation will my initial actions create? Will I be able to control myself so that I don't irk people. These are questions with a range of answers--which will turn out to be correct?
- WOOING AND COOING: Will I finally have a breakthrough when it comes to girls/women, or will my shyness hinder me as profoundly as it has throughout my high school years? Will I meet someone who is compatible with me? Will I be seen as compatible? Desirable? Time will tell, I suppose.

Before tonight's lyrical selection, I would like to thank you "Phoebe," for your kind comment on my last post. If you see fit at any time to reveal yourself, I would be pleased to know who you are. But at the same time, I fully understand your desire to conceal your identity. Regardless, I extend my sincerest gratitude to you.

Tonight's selection: "Visions of Johanna," by Bob Dylan
"Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind.

In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman's bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the "D" train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it's him or them that's really insane
Louise, she's all right, she's just near
She's delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna's not here
The ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place.

Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall
How can I explain?
Oh, it's so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn.

Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, "Jeeze
I can't find my knees"
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel.

The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him
Sayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him"
But like Louise always says
"Ya can't look at much, can ya man?"
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes ev'rything's been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain."

In a Rut

Some melancholy musings:

Do not be alarmed by the negative tone of the following. On the average, I'm positively giddy with life, but everyone has their ups and downs, and I'm feeling a bit of a down tonight.

Dear Readers, Friends, and Casual Acquaintances--

- I'm just beginning to realize just how much of a nuisance I really am. When talking to people, I always have positive intentions, but I always come off sounding preachy and just plain annoying. If I am trying to give advice (which probably is bad advice anyway), I tend to unwittingly adopt a scolding tone. I try to help it, but cannot.

- I apologize for my incessant talking; I always try to have a point, but oddly enough, I rarely do.

- I am probably the biggest wuss I know. I take almost no meaningful risks in my life. Therefore, I get left in the dust, so to speak. And when you're neither cool nor charismatic, it's hard to catch up.

- It's kind of pathetic to be such an easy target. Eccentric, annoying, (seemingly) dull: I seem to hit the trifecta in the eyes of many people.

- I was called "The Walking Encyclopedia" in the 2nd grade, and ever since, I feel as though people treat me as such--an inanimate object that people go to when they need an answer, whose purpose is served after the answer is given. What am I? A book or a person?

- Do you ever feel like you're destined to ultimately fall short of your objectives, be they personal, social, or intellectual? If not, I salute you.

Sorry for the rant. I don't mean this to be a lashing-out against everybody with whom I am acquainted. Please understand that I only feel this way very occasionally, and about a very few people. In general, I love humankind endlessly. But I find myself frustrated from time to time.

Tonight's lyrical selection is spot-on for my general mood: (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction, by The Rolling Stones:

"I can't get no satisfaction, I can't get no satisfaction
'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try
I can't get no, I can't get no

When I'm drivin' in my car, and the man come on the radio
He's tellin' me more and more about some useless information
Supposed to fire my imagination

I can't get no. Oh, no, no, no. Hey, hey, hey
That's what I say
I can't get no satisfaction, I can't get no satisfaction
'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try
I can't get no, I can't get no

When I'm watchin' my TV and a man comes on and tell me
How white my shirts can be
But, he can't be a man 'cause he doesn't smoke
The same cigarettes as me

I can't get no. Oh, no, no, no. Hey, hey, hey
That's what I say
I can't get no satisfaction, I can't get no satisfaction
'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try
I can't get no, I can't get no

When I'm ridin' round the world, and I'm doin' this and I'm signin' that
And I'm tryin' to make some girl, who tells me
Baby, better come back maybe next week
'Cause you see I'm on a losing streak
I can't get no. Oh, no, no, no. Hey, hey, hey
That's what I say. I can't get no, I can't get no
I can't get no satisfaction, no satisfaction
No satisfaction, no satisfaction"

Sunday Evening Musings

I have a little Dashboard Widget (Apple-talk for a small computer window in the Tiger operating system) that gives me the "Fact of the Day." I was particularly amused by today's offering:

"An old folk custom for selecting a husband from several suitors involved taking onions and writing each suitor's name individually on each. Then all the onions were put in a cool dark storeroom. The first onion to grow sprouts would determine which man the undecided maiden should marry."

Wouldn't that make things a lot easier? Combine this with the prohibition of divorce and I believe we'd solve overpopulations in underdeveloped countries in the course of a generation!

But seriously, allow me to opine on the mystery of the Heart (capital "H," rather than the physicall lower-case "h" heart). I believe that one reason for all the heartbreak out there is that people tend to use the word "love" far too liberally. In essence it has lost its meaning. People falsely say "I love you" to each other all the time. I occasionally hear "I love you Tim" as a response to one of my quirkily charming antics, but often feel bad in being hesitant to return the exclamation in kind, because I feel it is a betrayal of the serious meaning of the word.

I hope the above does not make me seem like an emotionless blob of hair, skin (the occasional zit), blood, and water (among other substances), because nothing could be further from the truth. I fancy myself--to steal a phrase from my Philosophy teacher--a "sensitive male for the 21st century." I feel infatuations toward girls (though my cautiousness in interactions with the 'Fairer Sex' calls this into question from the perspective of some insensitive peers, but that's a subject for another post), but I do not throw around the word "love" when it is not warranted.

Tonight's selection: "Mr. Blue Sky," by Electric Light Orchestra

"Sun is shinin' in the sky
There ain't a cloud in sight
It's stopped rainin' ev'rybody's in a play
And don't you know
It's a beautiful new day hey,hey

Runnin' down the avenue
See how the sun shines brightly in the city
On the streets where once was pity
Mister blue sky is living here today hey, hey

Mister blue sky please tell us why
You had to hide away for so long
Where did we go wrong?

Hey you with the pretty face
Welcome to the human race
A celebration, mister blue sky's up there waitin'
And today is the day we've waited for

Hey there mister blue
We're so pleased to be with you
Look around see what you do
Ev'rybody smiles at you

Mister blue sky, mister blue sky
Mister blue sky

Mister blue, you did it right
But soon comes mister night creepin' over
Now his hand is on your shoulder
Never mind I'll remember you this
I'll remember you this way

Mister blue sky please tell us why
You had to hide away for so long
Where did we go wrong?

Hey there mister blue
We're so pleased to be with you
Look around see what you do
Ev'rybody smiles at you..."

Yet Another Example of Man's Idiocy

So I'm at the supermarket with my mother the other day (it probably seems pathetic that I visit the supermarket with my mother at the age of 17, but I am what I am, and if that's a dork, then a dork I am) and the manned chackout lines are crowded. Not wanting to wait and eager to explore a suburban novelty, we head for the "automatic checkout station," a scan-it-yourself-bag-it-yourself area that is yet another way for businesses to stroke their greedy egos by eliminating jobs and salaries and replacing competent people with cold machinery.

After 15 minutes of struggling to scan items "just-so," and a request for assistance from a store worker (it is most ironic that we needed a person in order to help us use the machine properly), I was nearly ready to plant my foot in the screen, despite the slightly seductive (though nonetheless robotic) female voice within the apparatus. A little fair warning to those who know me: I may well have a psychotic break if I hear the phrase, "Two dollars and sixty-nine cents" chanted out of rhythm within the next week. Having to hear it a dozen times in excruciatingly fast succession is a punishment seemingly fit only for the most dastardly criminals.

Anyway, the moral of this story, dear readers, is that automated grocery checkout methods are to be avoided like the plague. That is, unless you don't mind frightening your fellow shoppers by screaming at the computer, "You stupid woman! I didn't remove any item from the bagging area! I will kill your children the next time you talk back to me!" I don't recommend it, but hey, we're all different, right?

Tomight's lyrics: "Lazy Flies," by Beck (yes, even the Teenage Old Fart himself listens to a little modern music now and again):
"Lazy flies all hovering above
The magistrate, he puts on his gloves
And he looks to the clouds
All pink and disheveled
There must be some blueprints,
Some creed of the devil
Inscribed in our minds.

A hideous game
Vanishes in thin air
The vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there?
To sweep the debris
To harness dead-horses
To ride in the sun
A life of confessions
Written in the dust.

Out in the mangroves
The mynah birds cry
In the shadows of sulfur
The trawlers drift by
They're chewing dried meat
in a House of disrepute
The dust of opiates
And syphilis patients
On brochure vacations

Fear has a glare that
Traps you like searchlights
The puritans stare
Their souls are fluorescent
The skin of a robot
Vibrates with pleasure
Matrons and gigolos
Carouse in the parlor
Their hand-grenade eyes
Impotent and blind.

A hideous stain
Vanishes in thin air
The vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there
To sweep the debris?
To harness dead-horses
To ride in the sun
A life of confessions
Written in the dust."

The Torments Never Cease

So I missed school yesterday to visit a college in Pennsylvania. My mother and I went to visit (and eat dinner with) her cousin's family on the way to the hotel near the college. The visit wasn't awesome, so we decided to leave early. On the way home, we stopped for an ice cream at a nearby Carvel (a combination Cinnabon-Carvel, in fact). While enjoying my Brown Bonnet, a bit of ice cream entered the wrong pipe, and I broke out into a fit of vigorous coughing.

Apologies for the lengthy setup. Anyway, as I am coughing like an old smoker beset with emphysema, a little boy of three years of age (also getting an ice cream cone with his mother) begins to mock me by staring me down and fake-coughing in an effort to annoy me. Though there was a certain level of cuteness to this small child's behavior, he was nonetheless poking fun at me. It's like the people with whom I interact daily hire people to follow me around and torment me. Yes, I acknowledge that I'm horribly annoying, but please people, call off the toddlers!

Sorry. That wasn't a very good story. I'll make it up to you with an ironic lyrical selection.

"Baby I'm A Star," by Prince (presented with The Artist's alternate spellings of common words)

"Hey, look me over
Tell me do u like what u see?
Hey, I ain't got no money
But honey I'm rich on personality
Hey, check it all out
Baby I know what it's all about
Before the night is through
U will see my point of view
Even if I have 2 scream and shout

Baby I'm a (star)
Might not know it now
Baby but I r, I'm a (star)
I don't want to stop, 'til I reach the top
Sing it (We are all a star!)

Hey, take a listen
Tell me do u like what u hear?
If it don't turn u on
Just say the word and I'm gone
But honey I know, ain't nothing
Wrong with your ears
Hey, check it all out
Better look now or it just might be 2 late (just might be 2 late)
My lucks gonna change tonight
There's gotta be a better life
Take a picture sweetie
I ain't got time 2 waste

Oh baby I'm a (star)
Might not know it now
Baby but I r, I'm a (star)
I don't want to stop, 'til I reach the top
Sing it! (We are all a star!)

Everybody say, nothing come 2 easy
But when u got it baby, nothing come 2 hard
You'll see what I'm all about (see what I'm all about)
If I gotta scream and shout (if I gotta scream and shout)
Baby baby (baby) baby (baby) baby (baby)
yeah
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah (star)..."

Gavrich Gets Lucky!

Yes, gang, the title says it all. On this day, the Feast of St. Patrick, I had a wee bit of the old Irish luck.

I briefly achieved the apex, the holy-of-holies in golf this afternoon, a hole in one. It wasn't the mightiest stroke (a paltry swipe of roughly 125 yards, more like), but it was true as true can be. I watched the ball take a little bounce, and then mosey on into the hole from the left side. My reaction was one of stunned amazement, rather than one of unbridled joy. Luckily for the inhabitants of the nearby houses, I did not scream, shout, yell, or even holler at my achievement. But don't get me wrong, it was a pretty cool feeling nonetheless. The best part was that I didn't even have to buy drinks for anybody (as is the typical protocol). Add to that a nice dinner at a nice restaurant, and I must say that I had a pretty decent day. I'd better not risk spoiling the ol' mojo (yes, even squares such as myself can capture this elusive intangible at times) by doing anything but moseying off to bed.

Good night; I apologize for not having too much in the way of sage advice, but sometimes one feels like sharing one's fortune. Fear not, dear readers, I have a little something-something in the works for the near future. Do stay tuned.

Thank you, nothing lyrical this evening (go find some Uileann Pipes or something, perhaps).

How Wiggly is Your Piggly?

Piggly Wiggly is much like any other supermarket chain, but for the fact that it has a funny name and emblem (a jolly pig with a hungry-yet-ecstatic expreession on its face). Anyway, it's a Southern institution, and I was there earlier this evening. Based on my observations there, dear readers, I have a little quiz for y'all.

What do the following words have in common?

ALL, BOLD, CHEER, DREFT, FAB, GAIN, TIDE, TREND, WISK, YES

Give up?

These words are all brand names. Terse, monosyllabic brand names--for laundry detergents. This phenomenon is fascinating to me because it only seems to occur in laundry detergents. Why do companies feel it's so important to pull in new buyers with these names? Are we so scatterbrained that the only way to catch our attention is with these brief, often-non-sensical names? I have no concrete theories as of now, but if you have thoughts on this strange occurrence, kindly leave a comment.

"I Get A Kick Out Of You," written by Cole Porter

"My story is much too sad to be told,
But practically evrything leaves me totally cold.
The only exception I know is the case
Where Im out on a quiet spree
Fighting vainly the old ennui
And I suddenly turn and see
Your fabulous face.

I get no kick from champagne.
Mere alcohol doesnt thrill me at all,
So tell me why should it be true
That I get a kick out of you?

Some get a kick from cocaine.
Im sure that if I took even one sniff
That would bore me terrificly too,
Yet I get a kick out of you.

I get a kick evrytime I see
Youre standing there before me.
I get a kick though its clear to me
You obviously dont adore me.

I get no kick in a plane.
Flying too high with some gal in the sky
Is my idea of nothing to do,
Yet I get a kick out of you."

Oh the Irony! or Only in the South!

I am elated as I write this, sitting in the kitchen of my family's condo in South Carolina. My mother, sister, and I made the !14 hour journey all today, having left Connecticut at 8 AM.

About five miles outside of the town of Dunn, North Carolina, along I-95 South, is perhaps the greatest pair of billboards in all of billboard-dom. They are not witty, and not terribly noteworthy by themselves, but their synergy is incredible. They are on opposite sides of the freeway, and are read in quick succession.

BILLBOARD ON THE LEFT: A blue background, with white lettering, and the text, "Jesus is Lord, have you accepted Him into your life?"

BILLBOARD ON THE RIGHT: A black background, with magenta lettering, all in caps, and the text, "Café Risqué! 24 Hour Topless Bar! XXX Videos and Toys! Food n' Fun!"

I believe I need not elaborate any further.

Tonight's lyrical selection: "Closing Time," by Leonard Cohen

"Ah we're drinking and we're dancing and the band is really happening
and the Johnny Walker wisdom running high.
And my very sweet companion she's the Angel of Compassion
she's rubbing half the world against her thigh.
And every drinker every dancer lifts a happy face to thank her
the fiddler fiddles something so sublime.
All the women tear their blouses off and the men they dance on the polka-dots
and it's partner found, it's partner lost and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops:
it's CLOSING TIME
Yeah the women tear their blouses off
and the men they dance on the polka-dots
and it's partner found, it's partner lost
and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops:
it's CLOSING TIME

Ah we're lonely, we're romantic and the cider's laced with acid
and the Holy Spirit's crying, "Where's the beef?"
And the moon is swimming naked and the summer night is fragrant
with a mighty expectation of relief.
So we struggle and we stagger down the snakes and up the ladder
to the tower where the blessed hours chime.
and I swear it happened just like this:
a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss
the Gates of Love they budged an inch
I can't say much has happened since
but CLOSING TIME

I swear it happened just like this:
a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss
the Gates of Love they budged an inch
I can't say much has happened since
CLOSING TIME

I loved you for your beauty but that doesn't make a fool of me:
you were in it for your beauty too.
And I loved you for your body there's a voice that sounds like God to me
declaring, declaring, declaring that your body's really you.
And I loved you when our love was blessed and I love you now there's nothing left
but sorrow and a sense of overtime.
And I missed you since the place got wrecked
and I just don't care what happens next
looks like freedom but it feels like death
it's something in between, I guess
it's CLOSING TIME

Yeah I missed you since the place got wrecked
By the winds of change and the weeds of sex.
Looks like freedom but it feels like death
it's something in between, I guess
it's CLOSING TIME

Yeah we're drinking and we're dancing but there's nothing really happening
and the place is dead as Heaven on a Saturday night.
And my very close companion gets me fumbling gets me laughing
she's a hundred but she's wearing something tight.
And I lift my glass to the Awful Truth which you can't reveal to the Ears of Youth
except to say it isn't worth a dime.
And the whole damn place goes crazy twice
and it's once for the devil and once for Christ
but the Boss don't like these dizzy heights
we're busted in the blinding lights,
busted in the blinding lights
of CLOSING TIME

The whole damn place goes crazy twice
and it's once for the devil and once for Christ
but the Boss don't like these dizzy heights
we're busted in the blinding lights,
busted in the blinding lights
of CLOSING TIME

Oh the women tear their blouses off
and the men they dance on the polka-dots
It's CLOSING TIME
And it's partner found, it's partner lost
and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops
It's CLOSING TIME
I swear it happened just like this:
a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss
It's CLOSING TIME
The Gates of Love they budged an inch
I can't say much has happened since
But CLOSING TIME
I loved you when our love was blessed
I love you now there's nothing left
But CLOSING TIME

Yikes!

I just turned on the television to the end of an episode of the show "COPS!" A 70-odd year old woman was speaking angrily with two police officers as her ~12 year old grandson--slumped in a chair, stroking a gray cat. This boy has been disrespectful to the point that the grandmother wants the police to quote "give his ass a good whippin," but must settle for the assurance from one of the cops that she has the right to do that herself.

The events of the episode are no what warrants the title of this post, but the fact that I recognized the episode tells me that I might be watching too much TV. I also noticed that there wasn't anything interesting on TV this evening, and yet I'm still watching. It just goes to show how TV runs our lives, at least in our free time. Ah well--I know I'll really be in trouble when I have to resort to watching "I Love New York" on VH1, but hopefully I'll have beaten myself unconscious out of boredom before that happens.

Pink Floyd, "Brain Damage"

"The lunatic is on the grass
The lunatic is on the grass
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs
Got to keep the loonies on the path

The lunatic is in the hall
The lunatics are in my hall
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more

And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forbodings too
Ill see you on the dark side of the moon

The lunatic is in my head
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me till Im sane
You lock the door
And throw away the key
Theres someone in my head but its not me.

And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear
And if the band youre in starts playing different tunes
Ill see you on the dark side of the moon"